


Cold & Lonely Nights

by MalevolentReverie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben eats people, Ben kills people, Bestiality, Blood and Violence, Breeding Kink, Darkfic, Drifter Ben, F/M, Gender Roles, Human/Monster Romance, Imprinting, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Rey is 15, Stalking, Werewolf!Ben, Werewolves, ben is 30, it’s not romantic, with a dash of mommy issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie
Summary: Werewolf Ben is convinced he doesn’t need or want anyone. He travels across the country seeing the sights, eating people, and picking up odd jobs along the way.Then he happens to see Rey when she’s leaving school one afternoon.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 227
Kudos: 673





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Холодными одинокими ночами](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408958) by [Tersie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tersie/pseuds/Tersie)



> elmofire.gif

Ben’s problem is: he was separated from his mother too early.

Fucks up dogs pretty bad if they’re pulled too early. He figures it can fuck up a werewolf just as bad. Maybe worse. He’s got a human brain to contend with, too; a human brain that’s always at odds with the violent impulses of the animal one. Maybe he would’ve been fine if Leia didn’t leave him with Anakin so early on.

Maybe.

Pool balls clack, and Ben takes a sip of his scotch, watching basketball on the bar’s flatscreen. Quiet in here. He’s on his third drink and booze always gets him emotional like this. Always gets him thinking about shit he doesn’t need to think about.

He polishes off his drink and pays his tab before he leaves. He’s got work to do.

Ben shrugs into his heavy coat as he steps out into the cold night. He’s passing through New Hampshire, heading up to Maine for a construction gig in Portland, courtesy of Han. It’s at least gonna be a couple bucks to keep him afloat before he moves on to the next gig. Can’t do much since he lost his CDL.

He lights a cigarette under the awning, ambling towards his black pickup truck. Snow falls in a thick sheet that muffles his footsteps, and it looks kinda pretty coating the dead trees and the orange street lamps. Ghostly, sort of.

His thoughts circle back to his mother as he unlocks the bed of his truck—what she thinks of him. Never saw her much growing up. Busy woman.

Not a big deal. Ben holds his cigarette between his teeth as the bed falls open and he peers into the darkness, eyes shifting so he can see better. He didn’t need Leia. Or Anakin. Or the pack. Doesn’t need anyone, turns out.

He clicks his tongue rapidly, taking his cigarette between two fingers.

“Kayla, Kayla.” His green eyes sweep the plastic bed. “Any more bits of you back here, Kayla?”

Smell is strong even after washing. Ben reaches in and finds a small bone—knuckle, probably—and pops it in his mouth.

He crunches it between his teeth as he closes the bed. It’s not much, but it’ll tide him over until he gets up into Maine. There’ll be plenty of drifters there for him to pick clean; plenty of people no one will miss.

No one would miss Ben. He takes a drag of his cigarette when he climbs into the cab of his truck, pausing in chewing on Kayla’s knuckle bone. Too bad no one can kill him. He’s not spongy and soft like humans are. Doesn’t even miss his own mother, he tells himself. Fuck her.

Gray smoke curls into the black night. Ben swallows the bone and watches the smoke and thinks again, a little more forcefully, that he doesn’t miss his mother.

He starts the truck.

—•—

Maine isn’t far off from New Hampshire. Ben stops in Kittery for gas and a couple snacks to tide him over.

He can eat human food—or humans. He sits in his truck and drinks his coffee and watches people coming and going from the gas station. Used to only eat people-food. Leia and Luke and Han said he had to. Anakin said humans were on the menu, too.

It’s what’s natural for werewolves. Billions and billions of humans; no one is gonna miss a handful of them.

Ben eyes a brunette heading into the gas station as he picks up a call from Han. She’s pretty. Leggy. Women aren’t very meaty, but they’re easier to kill.

“Yeah?” Ben answers, distracted by the woman.

“Just letting you know it’s gonna be a few more days until we need you.”

“Alright.”

“You should head up to Bar Harbor. See Acadia. It’s nice in the fall.” Han coughs. Probably sick. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

“Alright.”

They hang up. Ben stuffs his phone in his worn coat pocket and squints at the gas station door. Too many people around to go after her. Plus, he just killed that Kayla girl two days ago in Vermont—he’s not a total psychopath. He doesn’t kill indiscriminately.

Ben lights a cigarette, watching the woman emerge from the gas station. Usually, he doesn’t.

—•—

Bar Harbor is a hike, but it’s a nice drive. Maine turns into thick woods and narrow state highways the further up Ben drives, mottled with farms and the occasional B&B. It’s nice. Kind of like northern Vermont or New Hampshire but a little more wild.

It’s the kind of place he can usually find a handful of werewolves hiding out. Packs don’t assemble much, just to avoid the humans—big meet ups once or twice a year in certain spots but mostly packs are only three or five wolves nowadays, hidden away in some podunk town. Easy to blend in.

Ben pulls over at a roadside cutoff just outside Bar Harbor to smoke and watch the waves.

Humans love the ocean. He watches a little one bouncing on her heels pointing at the slippery rocks, and takes a long drag of his cigarette. They’re fucking fascinated by it. Not him. Hates it. Can’t see; can’t swim well. Anakin used to dump him in the lake in lieu of lessons but it never really clicked.

He rolls a pebble with the toe of his boot. Werewolves can drown. Probably.

“Jessica! JESSICA!”

Ben glances up.

The kid is gone, scrambling across the huge black rocks beyond the highway railing. She’s wearing a bathing suit and he smells the blood trailing down her skinny legs before he sees it: she’s getting cut up on the barnacles but still hurrying out towards the waves anyway.

She looks back at her parents and gives them a big toothy grin and waves. The mother and father shout at her but it’s too late for that.

Ben raises his eyebrows, watching and smoking as a wave crashes down on the kid and sweeps her out to sea.

The mother screams. The father puts his hands on his head before he starts over the railing, as if he stands any chance against the tide.

Ben rolls his eyes and puts out his cigarette. He’s got nothing to do this afternoon.

“I’ll get her,” he calls.

They don’t hear. Too busy shouting. He pushes off his boots and shrugs out of his flannel, then hops the railing and catches up to the father struggling. He’s crying, all ugly the way humans do, and Ben motions to the shore.

“I’ll get her,” he repeats, louder, to be heard over the waves.

“What?”

Jesus _Christ_. He shoves the guy back and carries on to the edge of the rocks—and jumps in.

It’s dark and freezing fucking cold, and Ben shifts his hands so he can lodge his talons into the rock. He squints through the water looking for any sign of the kid, even though she’s probably already halfway to Nova Scotia by now. Hates water. He really does hate water. But drowning is a shitty way to go.

Waves roar in his ears, battering him against the sharp rocks, tearing his skin. It quickly sews back together and he barely notices the pain.

Then—he spots pink. She’s at the bottom.

He has to shapeshift to keep from being swept away as he swims down to her. Already a bad swimmer, but in were form he’s a hell of a lot stronger. His fur is waterlogged and heavy but it acts like an anchor that helps drag him down to the kid, close enough that he can grab her around the waist.

He shifts back into a human.

The ocean hauls them to the surface, and Ben cages his body around the kid to keep her from hitting her head off the rocks. _He_ hits his head, stunning him for a couple seconds, but his body recovers as fast as it always does. He buries his talons into the rock and manages to pull the girl up out of the water.

Somehow, Ben keeps his hold on her. He shifts his hand before the humans see and climbs up on the rocks, surefooted. Good balance.

Unfortunately a couple other humans are watching. They clap, even though the kid is bleeding badly from her leg and so far hasn’t taken a breath. Oh well. At least she won’t be shark food.

But after he gets her to the road side and her dad does a couple compressions, she throws up some water and cries. Her left calf is severely fucked up, and Ben offers his flannel as a tourniquet. Sure. Why not. Eat one, save one.

“Thank you!” the mother sobs. Blonde. Looks like she asks for the manager when a drug store cashier pisses her off.

“No problem,” Ben says. He pulls off his sleeveless shirt and wrings it out, heading for his truck. “Good luck.”

Doesn’t need to stick around. Should get out before the cops come and start asking questions.

Ben climbs into his truck. He puts on his seatbelt and pauses to watch the kid hug her mother. All weepy. Even the humans standing around to watch are weepy.

He runs a hand through his wet hair, clearing his throat, adjusting the rearview mirror. Should’ve let her drown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gasp

There’s no shortage of hotels in Bar Harbor. It’s crawling with tourists even though winter has come to Maine, but Ben manages to find a room at a Motel 6 just outside the town. Should double back to Bangor in case he runs into that family—but they’re probably headed straight there for the hospital, anyway.

He’s still shaky from his swim in the ocean. The front desk girl gives him a weird look but doesn’t say anything.

“Enjoy your stay,” she says.

Ben grunts.

He takes a hot shower as soon as he gets to his room. Cold doesn’t bother him; being wet doesn’t bother him. He rubs his face and shudders, letting the stream of water run through his hair. That was fucking stupid—saving that kid. He could’ve drowned. Someone could’ve seen him shapeshift.

That’s something Han would do: reckless and stupid. Han would dive in the ocean to save some kid. Leia would, too.

Ben lays on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling. Neither of them showed up when he was drowning. He always had to sink or swim.

—•—

There are a couple reports of Ben’s stunt on the news but thankfully no one snapped a picture of him.

He watches a small flat screen in the hotel’s dining room, glancing at the truckers and bikers milling around picking up the free breakfast. Good. No one should be able to pick him out. Should be able to hang around Bar Harbor until Han calls him.

Can’t kill any humans, though. Ben sips his coffee, eyeing a tall blonde ambling into the dining room. It’ll make them hysterical. Be all over the news.

But the werewolf blood burns hot. Killing people is the way Anakin taught him to cool down and take off the edge, and every few weeks without a kill, it gets harder to stay in human form. Leia tried to send him off to Uncle Luke—make him a weird fucking monk—but his grandfather intervened. Good thing. Made him a better wolf.

Ben isn’t a psychopath, though. Would never eat kids or babies. No pregnant women. Just adults, usually women, usually drifters. Can’t contract diseases from them or anything.

Anakin likes eating kids. Loves it.

It’s cold out when Ben leaves the motel for a walk, but he only needs a thin hoodie. Most humans he passes are bundled up in thick winter coats and scarves and they glance at him, beady eyes narrowing suspiciously as he passes by. Some of them can tell he’s not quite right.

He meanders along the shop fronts with his hands in his pockets. He’s got some money saved but there isn’t much he wants in the world. Somewhere warm—maybe a little cabin out in the middle of nowhere with a big fireplace. Maybe a mate. Maybe a couple pups running around.

Ben rubs his nose and coughs, pausing to look at an old sled in a window display. Hard to find a bitch to mate with. They’re fucking _huge_ and none of them want to get knocked up. Got his ass kicked three years ago by Nadja; real big broad from overseas somewhere. Kicked the shit out of him. Almost tore off his front leg.

Soft twittering jingles from his pocket. Ben keeps walking as he answers his phone.

“Yeah.”

“ _Ben_ —where are you?”

He stops. Weird to hear from his mother. Always makes his heart skip a beat, even though he learned a long time ago not to expect much from her.

He rubs his jaw, shrugging. “Maine.”

“Oh. That job with Han?”

“Yup.”

Leia scoffs.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“Great. Nice hearing from you. See you at the next funeral.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Ben,” she scolds. “I called because I saw you on the news this morning.”

“Yeah?”

“Who else would jump into the northern Atlantic during winter to save a little girl—and survive?”

Fuck. Ben rolls his eyes and leans on the side of a building, fishing in his hoodie for his cigarettes. Yeah. She has a point there. No human would survive it.

“What about it?” he grunts. His breath curls in the air as he slaps the carton on his palm. “Got something to say?”

“I’m very proud of you, sweetheart.”

His fingers tremble as he sets the cigarette between his lips. He lights up and doesn’t answer her, dragging in a lungful of smoke and trying to ignore the pressure in his chest. Yeah. Proud. Good for her.

Leia sighs. Her voice crackles and Ben gets a quick pulse of anxiety that she’s breaking up. He takes another drag. Whatever.

“You can come home,” she offers. “You would do very well in a trade—”

“Can’t do that, Leia.”

“You don’t have to run amok like this. Stop searching for a home you already have.”

He hangs up.

It takes a lot of willpower not to smash the phone. Ben clenches his jaw and shoves it in his pocket, rubbing his face, shrugging off the wall. His throat gets tight and his chest twists and he takes another pull from his cigarette, closing his eyes.

He spends most of the day wandering through the town. There’s a coffee shop next to the drug store and he stops around lunch for a muffin and a coffee, black, piping hot. Doesn’t burn his mouth when he drinks it, and he sits on a bench while he sips, watching the humans milling around. Lots of families. Loud kids shrieking at their parents.

There’s a big high school just across the street, too. Kind of creepy to sit and watch but wolf instincts run deep: he’s somewhat aware that he’s stalking his prey; studying and observing them for later. Everything he does gets twisted up with the wolf. Everything he thinks.

Ben polishes off his blueberry muffin, watching as the double doors to the school open. Wolves don’t miss their mothers once they’re full-grown. He doesn’t miss his.

Kids come pouring down the steps in their winter clothes. Not a ton of them but he wouldn’t know—homeschooled, by Anakin. Hard to send a werewolf to a human school. Ben licks his lips and takes another sip of his coffee, glancing down at his newspaper, then back up at the school.

There’s a bright flicker of rainbow light, kinda dazzling, like the reflection off a diamond. He frowns, rubbing his eyes, and lets them shift so he can get a better look—

And lightning strikes.

Ben stands so fast he knocks the bench over. His coffee is spilled on the ground somewhere; he doesn’t care. His eyes widen as the flicker of light crystallizes and bleeds bright colors in the world around it—everything is suddenly _vibrant_ , and he picks out a girl walking down the steps at the center of it. Some girl.

He stares and staggers forward a couple steps toward her. The color is settling and winding around his left rib cage and it’s pulling him—and he can’t stop—even though he knows he can’t just walk up to a teenage girl—

Ben balks, blood surging red hot under his skin. Fear sweeps over him for a minute, because he knows what this is and what _she_ is but it hasn’t happened in two or three or five hundred years and it can’t be happening to his sorry ass. Can’t be. Last time it happened was Anakin and Padme, and Padme left.

The wolf simmers in Ben’s blood. He’s going to transform, like he’s a teenager again at the whim of his mood swings, and he needs to go before someone sees.

His insides are violently pulled in the opposite direction, but Ben takes off.

He gets back to the motel in record time; maybe he ran too fast, maybe made a human suspicious. The front desk clerk gives him a look but he ignores her, rushing up to his room pouring sweat from the sheer stress of keeping his transformation at bay. He just saw—he just saw—

Ben shapeshifts as he staggers through his door, just barely managing to get it shut. He swears and it tapers into a roar as he transforms, skin tearing painfully as he’s thrown into werewolf form too quickly. He twists his neck and roars again, stumbling back into the television stand and knocking it over.

His skin hums. Ben drops to his knees and falls hard to his side, breathing heavily through his mouth. His eyes are wide and the world is in full, vibrant color, and it never is when he’s in wolf form.

He blinks, gaze roaming around the small room, and he focuses on his breathing but his mind is in a tailspin. He can see color—and he can feel _Her_.


	3. Chapter 3

_go—go—find—_

_can’t wait—go_ now

The voice swirls in Ben’s mind. It drops to a whisper then rises to a scream, but it never fades. It won’t. Not until he obeys.

He stares blankly at the ceiling listening to it and stifling the impulses to obey—because he imprinted, and he should go find his mate. His brain hasn’t been this full of fucking nonsense since he was still tethered to Anakin’s pack.

Ben’s jaw shifts as he forces himself to revert to human form. It hurts, but he can’t go tearing through Bar Harbor looking for the girl. She’s a teenager. A _human_. Only he would fuck up something rare and special like imprinting by doing it on a fucking teenager.

It’ll be fine. Nothing new. He’s gone his whole life like this: barely contained, teetering on the edge, ready to rip apart every human he stumbles across.

His lower eyelid twitches as the black fur fades into his forearm. Doesn’t want to rip this one apart. Not literally, anyway. There’s a new urge blooming in his stomach and draining the blood from his brain and he doesn’t want anything to fucking do with it.

Ben sits up slowly, exhaling, running a trembling hand through his hair. No big deal. It’ll pass. Just needs to stay out of wolf form and keep busy.

There’re a couple sharp knocks on the door. Ben clenches his jaw as he stands, not bothering to assess the damage he’s caused. He’s got cash. He’ll have to pay for it or the cops might get involved.

He opens the door. It’s the receptionist, and she looks pissed, arms crossed, scowl on, blonde hair in a greasy messy bun on top of her head. Smells like cigarettes and dollar store perfume. Would love to tear that mean mug open with his teeth.

“Everything okay?” she asks, peering around his arm.

“Yeah.”

“It sounded like something broke.”

“Oh.”

She glares up at Ben. He doesn’t flinch—now he’s actively resisting the urge to rip her throat out.

Her pink nails drum on her upper arm. “Okay. Whatever.”

Then she leaves. Lucky for her.

Ben watches her walk down the hallway before stepping back into his room and shutting the door. Maybe he won’t pay for the damage. Should probably skip town before he ends up killing someone.

—•—

The urges are worse by the next morning. Way worse.

For one, his dick is hard. Ben glares at the ceiling, pretending he can’t feel it or see it, and rubs his face with one hand. Hasn’t happened in a while. It’s distracting— _really_ distracting—but the logical end result of what he started feeling last night.

He exhales into his palm before sitting up, gingerly avoiding touching his cock. It’ll pass. He’s better off not giving in to it.

After a very long cold shower that leaves Ben shivering, it does pass. He dries off, ignoring the heat curling in his gut and behind his eyes. He brushes his teeth, glowering at his reflection in the dirty mirror. Fucking putz. Getting a fucking boner over his food.

He rinses out his mouth and gets dressed. Still hearing the voice, still being pulled toward the girl. Can’t go. Can’t risk being seen; can’t risk her calling the cops because some creep is stalking her. 

But when Ben walks out into the cold morning the urge to find her pounds louder in his skull. He shoves his hands in his pockets, grinding his teeth, then paws for a cigarette. He’s gotta get out of here. He lights his cigarette and keeps moving, taking a long drag of it. He’ll just wait in Portland for Han. It’s better than risking seeing the girl.

It’s easy to find her, if he wants to. Ben smokes his cigarette, coming to stop under a tree, tapping his boot on the wet grass. Not that he wants to. He doesn’t need her. Doesn’t need anyone. She’s just wrapped tight around his heart like fishing wire and he’s just saying, _in theory,_ he could follow the line straight to her. If he wanted to.

But he doesn’t want to. So. He’ll just finish his cigarette, clear out his hotel room, and be on his way to Portland.

The cigarette is gone way too fast and he pulls out another. He leans on the tree, exhaling a shaky breath. Should call Han. Call Leia. Anakin. Let them know what happened. Anakin will be all over it—he’ll offer to help kidnap the girl.

“Not doing that,” Ben mutters. He shakes his head and lights his cigarette, watching the humans milling by on the sidewalk. “Fucking moron.”

Probably shouldn’t tell Anakin. Definitely shouldn’t. Anakin will interfere. Make it worse. He’ll want the girl pulled into the pack, human or not, and Ben isn’t crossbreeding with some teenage human. Or any human. They’re _food_.

Besides, he’s not seriously considering kidnapping the girl, anyway. He just knows how Anakin is. Ben has some respect for his food; doesn’t have any interest in playing with it. Doesn’t even know why the thought popped in his head. She’s a kid. In high school, so not even the usual age he hunts. Anakin wouldn’t hesitate but Ben isn’t his grandfather.

He flicks ashes on the grass, lowering his gaze to his feet. He has standards.

—•—

Ignoring the voice takes all of Ben’s energy. He goes to sleep early and wakes up to another hard-on the next morning, which only serves to piss him off. He really needs to skip town. He does.

But he showers and dresses and goes to mope under the same tree with a fresh pack of cigarettes instead. Usually he showers once a week or just finds a lake to rinse off in, and he’s telling himself it’s just to blend in with the humans. They’ll notice a dirty vagrant lurking around town. He has to blend in.

Ben lights his cigarette and glances at his watch. He should really leave town. Alone. Maybe he’ll pick up someone on the mainland to take the edge off. Quick bite. Get the blood down.

He swallows, meandering in the direction his heart is pulling him. She’s probably in school right now, totally oblivious to his existence. Maybe she has a boyfriend. Girlfriend. Whatever.

Ben’s lower eyelid twitches as he takes a deep drag of his cigarette. Either way, he’ll kill them.

_kill them_

He’ll kill them.

The impulse seeps into his bones and his brain and he follows the thread more urgently than before, making it halfway across the town before he comes back to himself. Easy to get swept up in the emotion. That’s how his kind is, so he has to be— _careful_. Strict.

Ben stops on the sidewalk, dropping his burnt out cigarette and crushing it under the toe of his boot. He exhales a stream of smoke and stares at the high school across the street. Wandered straight here. Fucking putz.

She’s nearby, definitely. He can feel her. It eases the pain in his ribs, and warmth spreads down to his fingertips shoved in his pockets. Not gonna kill a bunch of high schoolers. Or kidnap one. He’s a fucking Skywalker. Pack leader. Lone wolf. Doesn’t _need_ anyone or _want_ anyone bad enough—

“Excuse me?”

Ben goes stiff, eyes widening as he keeps staring at the school. He doesn’t blink; doesn’t take a breath, just slowly turns his head to look behind him.

Light scatters. She’s blinding for a minute, like staring at the sun, then she’s taking shape and dimming back to normal. He doesn’t blink. _Should_ , but he’s afraid if he blinks she’ll disappear. So he stares, even after the rainbow seeps back into her tan skin.

She’s smiling. She has freckles and a nice mouth. Ben doesn’t notice much else. Can’t notice much else. Needs her. Wants her. Will kill whoever she wants.

The girl laughs nervously. She glances down into a messenger bag on her hip, then peers back up at him from under her lashes while she rummages through it. Her fingers are skinny and covered in a couple bandaids. She smells nice. Good. Really good. He’ll kill whoever she wants.

“This is… _super_ awkward,” she says, laughing again and shaking her head, “but my friend is having this event in the park, and he’s forcing me to hand out flyers. I told him this is what the internet is for.”

She offers Ben a blue flyer. He keeps staring at her as he takes it and she clears her throat, curling her hair behind her ear. Could grab her right now. Drag her back to the hotel room and…

He swallows. Usually he just eats women. This is a different urge—confusing as fuck. Makes his heart race and his blood burn.

“I’m Rey,” she says. Waves, smile more tense. “You’re one of the only tourists I haven’t harassed yet, so… that’s… why I’m here.”

Ben’s voice won’t cooperate. He’s reduced to staring at the girl, ignoring the flyer clenched in his fist. He swallows another lump and searches her face. It’s all his. She’s all his. Pups and a mate and something to tether him somewhere. All his. All his.

Rey crosses her arms, raising her eyebrows. She looks down at her white shoes and it gives Ben a pulse of pleasure down his spine. Good girl.

“Anyway—” She takes a step back. “Sorry to bother you, sir. Admission is free if you go.”

_where the fuck does she think she’s going_

She waves again, teetering back another step. There are humans walking around and it’s broad daylight and he can’t just fucking chase her down and drag her back to his den by her hair. Holy _shit_ does it hurt. Where is she going? Why is she leaving? She can’t just fucking leave him.

Ben’s blood roars in his ears and burns and propels him toward his mate—but he stays there on the sidewalk, jaw clenched, watching her leave. Her skinny shoulders are hunched. She’s small. Thin. Can’t just let her go on like—that—thin and small and alone. He’s supposed to fucking _intervene_ and if he just brings her back to the den she’ll understand and she’ll be happy to be mounted—

He clicks his teeth, blinking hard, shaking his head. Jesus. Jesus Christ. He’s got to get out of this place.

Ben rubs his mouth before he walks off in the opposite direction. Got to clear his head. Probably shouldn’t leave—but he’ll just clear his head. That’ll work. Just needs to clear his head; shake off all those weird intrusive thoughts.

He shoves the flyer in his back pocket, heart pounding. Can’t leave. His mate has a name. Can’t leave. He’ll be fine.


End file.
